


Unrequited

by NerdyQwerty



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Gen, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Mutually Unrequited, POV Second Person, So many monologues, Unrequited Love, acting like i know how souls work, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyQwerty/pseuds/NerdyQwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should tell you. He should tell you how he can’t stop thinking about the way you felt against him when you fell asleep during movie night, the way you can cheer him up with just a nudge and a silly face, the way you smiled even as your soul dimmed when he rejected you—</p><p>Shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Should Tell/You Got Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, first time I write fic in years, and of course it's skelesinner angst. This has been bouncing around my head for a while, and it may become a larger thing? Who knows, y'all. 
> 
> So this is more Original Character than Reader Insert, so if that's what you're here for, I apologize. I tagged it as sans/reader because I personally tend to go through that tag to read OC fic (and I'm p sure other peeps do too), and because 2nd person POV felt really natural when writing this. Hope that's not a dealbreaker for anybody. Prepare yourself for ridiculous swearing and rambly bits.

He should tell you. He’s lying sprawled across his bed, staring with blank eye sockets at the ceiling, waiting for you to slam the front door when you enter their house, grocery bags in hand, determination in your soul soaring with excitement for Taco Tuesday, and he should really tell you. He should tell you that he can’t stop hearing your laugh. Can’t stop smelling the shampoo on your hair. He can’t stop thinking about the way you felt against him when you fell asleep during movie night, the way you can cheer him up with just a nudge and a silly face, the way you smiled _even as your soul dimmed when he rejected you—_

 _Shit._ He pulls the pillow over his head, about smothers himself in mortification. Him from the past had no idea what he’d given up. And for what? A half-baked crush on Tori? Fuckin’ _bonehead_.

He flops onto his side. He should tell you, he’s gonna tell you. You didn’t get over him that fast, right? Right (probably). Surely, there was still some kind of spark there? Yeah (maybe). So long as he had a fighting chance, he could play the long game. Whatever it took to win you (back) over. (He ignores the voice in his head that reminds him about how quickly he got over Tori, how you’ve had twice as long to get over him, _nope, not going there—_ )

What’s he got to lose anyways? After all, you managed to push past the awkwardness and keep your friendship after he (stupidly) rejected you, he could do the same right? It’d be fine, s’not like you two were closer than ever, closer than he's felt to anyone excepting Paps. S'not you’d already left your mark on his soul or anything, not like it leaped and skipped when you so much as looked his way, or called his name—

“Sans, Papyrus!”

 _Shit._ He can feel his cheekbones glowing somethin' fierce, and he presses his hand to his ribcage. Calm down, y’dumb thing. He can hear you greeting Papyrus as you bang around the kitchen. The thought of you being so comfortable in his kitchen, his _home_ , nearly sends his soul tripping over itself again, _stars_.

He’s gonna tell you, he is. But not tonight. Another time, when he’s less… _bone-rattled_. He snickers to himself and takes a shortcut to just outside the kitchen, he loves to sit back and just watch you and Pap chat (fuck, he’s gettin' creepy isn’t he, he needs to tell you soon, before he starts pulling serious stalker shit).

“—IN SUCH A SPLENDID MOOD, HUMAN?”

“That obvious, huh, Pap?” Stars, even your chuckles are cute. He moves to slide into the very edge of the kitchen— “Yeah, I, uh, got asked out to dinner tomorrow night.”

He freezes.

When Papyrus congratulates you and asks who might be ‘deserving of his closest large human friend,’ your voice is practically bursting with nervous excitement, “This girl named Aria, she’s a regular at the café. She’s super sweet, and knows all these cute random facts about things, and she’s kind of, like, gorgeous—”

He hangs around the café enough (comes to visit you at work enough, really) that he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And she _is_ gorgeous, is the thing. She’s got long blonde hair to your short brunette, whipcord muscles to your sweet curves, perfect complements to each other. She’s got legs that go on for miles, expressive doe eyes to get lost in, pretty cupid-bow lips, _actual human lips_ for you to kiss rather than— rather than—

 _Shit._ He brings a shaking hand over his pulsing left eye, not now, not now. He swallows, shoves the ache in his soul back into a corner, reminds himself that he’s practiced at this, that he's an old soul (heh) at keeping controlled. The blue fades from his vision, and your and Paps’s giggles filter back into his hearing. Okay. He’s okay. He takes a breath, steps into the kitchen.

And stops dead.

Fucking stars, your soul’s _incredible_. It dances and snaps around you like a flame, the occasional ember sparking to the sound of your laughter. It radiates this welcoming warmth he wants to wrap himself in, bury himself in until it sinks into the very center of his bones. His soul pounds against his ribcage, swirling tendrils begging for the freedom to join yours— stop, no, he’s not doing this, he hasn’t even told you yet (and he's  _in front of Papyrus_ , stars).

He’s just gotten his dumb self to calm down when you turn around and your soul just. Stops.

What. He just barely returns your greeting because. _What_. The light, the warmth, the playful dance of your soul is just _gone_ , reduced to a mere blaze in your chest. He can feel his own soul weep at the loss. He numbly throws out just enough puns to keep you and Paps talking as he casts his mind back, searching for the last time he saw your soul flare up like that, for him—

 _Shit._ He can’t remember. Maybe before. Before he rejected you. When he’d ignored it, too embarrassed by your obvious crush, embarrassed for you, embarrassed _by_ — He has to stop and breathe through the twisting clench in his gut. (Who knew he even _had_ a gut, fuck)

And then, after the— the rejection, he remembers avoiding looking at your soul at all, trying to spare you the embarrassment when you’d smiled so sincerely, promised you’d get over it, swore you wouldn’t let this affect your friendship.

He remembers wanting, no, honest-to-stars _wishing_ for you to get over it, that your soul would _stop_ flaring around him, that you’d find someone else, _anyone else_ to lo—

Fuck. Fuck his idiot past self twice over, so fucking _stupid_ —

“Sans? Hey, buddy…” You’ve bent down towards him, brow furrowed. Your soul isn’t flaring, but it is flickering with concern. He squashes the tendrils of his soul that burst forward at even those tiny sparks of you, _stars, could he get anymore pathetic—_ “You alright there, _Sansy Pants_?”

How did he ever reject you when you gave him a _punny nickname_ , stars— “yeah, probably just something i had earlier, y’know i haven’t got the _stomach_ for much. No worries, sweetheart.” _Sweetheart_? Why doesn’t he just stamp hearts to his eye sockets, he’s so obvious. Fuckin’ sweetheart.

Paps doesn’t even look up from the stove to berate him for the pun, but you don’t look convinced. He watches you check to make sure Papyrus is distracted again before you turn back to him, voice lowered.

“Listen, Sansy…” He’s never been so glad that you can’t see souls, can’t see his bloom under your careful attention, grateful for every scrap, _even if you don’t—_ “You know that if you ever need someone to talk to or anything… You’ve got me, right?”

 _Shit._ He wishes he had you, but he threw that away.

He lifts his smile the best he can. “yeah, sweetheart. and you got me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome, or plain old criticism for that matter. I'd like to have a better grasp on Sans's voice, especially if I end up expanding this into a larger story. Would you be down to read that? Let me know. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. You Were Never Going to/Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite your closeness, you could easily tell that Sans didn’t feel any of the same spark you did. Maybe it was because you were human. Maybe it was because your sarcasm and dry humor got too much for him sometimes. Maybe it was because, as you’d suspected for a while, he liked Toriel.
> 
> Your stomach twists. God, you’re pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This is a thing. Finally finished my exams to write 2000 words of rambling angst. These are my life choices. 
> 
> So we're time-jumping a bit to the rejection six months before, from our dear "Reader's" POV. Not sure yet if I'm going to alternate POVs every chapter or just pick up SansPOV after go through the six months in ReaderPOV. If you have a preference, let me know in comments please!

You were never going to tell him. You _know_ this. You had been content to keep your silence, wait out your feelings until they finally faded. But in the end, you didn’t have to tell him anything. It goes like this…

It’s game night at Alphys’s place. Frisk had (of course) been an ace at charades, Papyrus and Undyne battled it out in MarioKart, and the monsters had even taught you the Underground’s favored style of poker, the Fluffybun Fan-out (which had something to do with King Asgore and a speech, apparently?). Overall, a relaxed, fun night with your friends… if not for the looks.

From Sorry! to Smash Brothers, the surrounding monsters had thrown you knowing glances, teasing winks, and waggling eyebrows anytime you and Sans had so much as breathed in the same direction. After the three-hour Monopoly beatdown at the hands of Alphys (it was always the quiet ones), all the teasing came to a head. The monsters were retiring to the massive blanket pile in the den, but you had work in the morning. You gathered your coat and shoes, bid your friends a good night, but then…

You loved your friends, you did. They’re the best thing to happen to you in a long time. You’d regret strangling them. This is what you tell yourself after Undyne not-so-tactfully suggests that Sans “escort” you home. With his change of clothes.

It’s the last straw. Ears burning, you don’t even bother to respond and march (flee) out the front door. What. What even was that? Yes, you had a crush on Sans. Yes, you slipped up sometimes—laughed a little too hard at a joke here, blushed a little too bright there. But there had been a time when you prided yourself in your poker face, on keeping your infatuations from the forefront and the awkwardness at bay.

Lord knows it’s been a while since you’ve had a crush—and even longer since you were around friends who cared enough to tease you about it (Christ, isn’t that sad)—but you were pretty much a master at hiding your feelings. You _know_ this. Given all the jokes about “lovebirds” tonight, though, looks like you were only fooling yourself. Even Frisk, who had been the only one not nudging the pair of you together, had only shrugged helplessly at your silent plea for help.

But you still didn’t get it. You can’t help but grumble, kicking a stray rock as you huddle against the autumn chill. Much as your affection for Sans was _apparently_ obvious to everyone within a five-mile-radius, why would they be pushing you when he never showed any sign of liking you back?

Sure, you were probably closer to him than anyone else— which was a surprise, honestly. After all, no matter how much Wiki-knowledge you learned in your free time, a college-dropout like you could never be as smart or interesting as Sans. You _know_ this. Of course, when you’d jokingly said as much, Sans had kindly told your self-deprecation to _get dunked on_ and went right back to your heated discussion on the possibility of monster astronautics. Unbidden, your chest warms at the memory. Yeah, Sans was kind of great.

Despite your closeness, you could easily tell that Sans didn’t feel any of the same spark you did. Maybe it was because you were human. Maybe it was because your sarcasm and dry humor got too much for him sometimes. Maybe it was because, as you’d suspected for a while, he liked Toriel.

Your stomach twists. God, you’re pathetic.

Because really, you could hardly blame the guy— if you hadn’t been low-key crushing on Sans when you met her, you would probably be a bit in love with Toriel yourself. A regal sort of beauty with an incredible heart to match, she was as clever and politically savvy as she was kind and motherly. It wasn’t hard to see what would make Sans smile just a bit brighter around her, or cause the lights in his eyes to follow her whenever he thought someone wasn’t looking.

And that was… It was fine. Really. You had decided so back when you recognized the skip in your heartbeat as ~~love~~ infatuation, and that wasn’t about to change no matter how much your feelings had grown.

Your feet slowed, lulled by your thoughts. You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped from your lips, the weight that made its home in your chest. What you had _was_ enough, you _know_ this, and you weren’t about to throw a wrench in it for feelings—

“’sup, kid.” – _for feelings that you **know** will never be returned_.

You plaster a grin on your face before you turn to face him, the joy in it only half-false. Because for all the circles your thoughts have run through, you’re still a pining fool.

“Sans. Hey, did you get taller since I last saw you?”

“heh, you think you’re real funny, kid? i gotta tell ya, i got a _short_ temper for height jokes.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, the number of those I have is no _small_ amount.”

“i don’t doubt that, i’d never be _little_ your sense of humor.”

You can’t stop yourself from snorting at that one. “Since when, Mister ‘Sarcasm will always be inferior to puns?’”

He shrugs, hands in the air. “y’got me there. guess it’s just too much of a _tall_ order.”

“ _Oh my god_.” You shove at him even as you chortle. “What’s a tall order is dealing with you, bone boy. What are you even doing here, man?”

“well, y’know, s’pretty late.” His eyes lose a bit of their humor. He buries his hands in his pockets. “figured i’d make sure ya got home safe.”

_‘Maybe you need someone to escort ya home, punk— maybe a teleporting skeleton—‘_

You banish Undyne’s teasing from your mind. Nope, no, that is not what’s happening right now. You _know_ this. “Yeah, I mean, I’m pretty close at this point. But whatever floats your metaphysical boat, Sansy-Pants.”

You stuff your own hands in your pockets as you turn towards home. He falls into step at your side. Your stomach is definitely not swooping. You are definitely not thinking about Undyne’s suggestion, or the fact that he followed you out here despite it. _Or maybe it was inspired by_ — No. Nope. Stop. Hope may be the thing with feathers, but you’d clipped your wings a while ago. Stop being dumb and just ignore it until it passes. You _know_ this. Just keep walking, c’mon.

“hey, kid, ah—“ Your eyes cut to him. He’s faced forward, a bit of sweat clinging to his skull despite the chill. God, you’ve never seen him this nervous before, this is not helping— “look, i wasn’t gonna say anything, but then with all the others tonight…“

Something squeezes tight behind your breastbone, something that feels like an icicle and an inferno in the same moment. As much as  dread creeps along your skin, the hum in your veins refuses to leave.

“Yeah, that was kinda… weird, I guess?” You manage an embarrassed laugh that doesn’t give away your panic, excellent. Just a little longer, keep walking.

“yeah, that’s cuz, um, i gotta tell ya somethin’—“ Wow, hi, hello there, butterflies in the gut. That’s really not helping anything, why. “—eh, did i ever tell ya ‘bout souls?”

“Yeah, that everybody’s got one and that it’s a monster’s power in addition to being a lifeforce, right?” And that it’s how monsters form bonds, the magic that tethers them for life, connected by their lo— You need to stop that thought when heat spirals through your limbs, making the tips of your fingers and toes tingle. Between that, the rushing blood in your ears, the sparks along your skin, and that last shard of numbness in your chest, it’s a wonder you’re still moving, much less able to hear his next words.

“we can see ‘em.” What. “monsters can see human souls.”

“I— what, I don’t—“

He’s staring ahead, eyes fixed to some unknown distance. His words tumble out in a rush, for all that his tone becomes distant and clinical. “souls reflect a being’s purest emotions and reactions. monsters, because we were born in a society where seeing souls is the norm, tend to turn a blind eye to everyday reactions out of politeness. most monsters see a vague aura for those around them, with spikes in activity when deep emotions are felt. others—boss monsters— not only have clearer sight, but have easier control in tempering the reactions of their soul from others’ sight.

“because most humans can’t even comprehend the idea a soul, much less that of someone seeing it, they have no reason to temper their souls. which, to monsters, make their emotions—“

“Obvious.” The more he’d spoken, the more warmth had fled you. The cold in your chest has spread, creeping through your lungs and veins. Hidden in the depths of your pockets, your fingers trembled. When you fisted them closed, you were aware of your nails scrabbling against the meat of your palm, though you did not feel their bite. You held onto the last bits of pride that your voice was steady and casual, though it had gone soft. “Yeah… That explains a lot, actually.”

Keep walking. Your apartment complex is finally in sight.

And still, he would not look at you. Of course not, why would he want to see the untamed bursts of your savage human soul. You swore you’d never force him to face your unwelcome love— yes, you admit it, love. But all this time, he’d seen it anyways. Was it embarrassing for him, to watch it trip over itself in its eagerness, its— _your_ yearning on display for all to see? Did he dread having you and Toriel in the same room, having your soul trailing after him like a lovesick puppy when he never wanted—

Keep walking.

“Alright, so my soul’s on full broadcast to every monster, got it. But then why would everybody try to push you when— Oh my god, you’re a _boss_ _monster_ aren’t you?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him hunch further in his hoodie. Of course. So when the others didn’t see any soul spikes from him, they just assumed he was better at hiding it, not that he didn’t— Well, y’know what they say about assuming. And to top it off, as a boss monster, he’s been viewing all your pathetic longing in clear, crisp HD. You want to laugh, but you feel frozen, your body encased in ice.

“I was never going to—“

“i know.” He never wanted you to.

 _There is an incredible difference_ , you think absently as the ice fractures, piercing your insides from your throat to your feet, _in when you think you know something, and when you **know** it._

You’re here.

“We’re here.”

You both stand there in the dark, staring up at your building. Him, you presume, so he can avoid looking at your miserable soul. You, because it’s been honest-to-god years since you’ve cried in front of someone and you’re not about to start now.

“So… this is awkward, huh?”

“that’s not what i—“ He groans beside you. “look, the whole reason I said anythin’ is because everyone else was making it awkward, alright? figured you’d appreciate knowing why they decided to play cupids from hell…”

“Yeah. That is, uh, good information to have.”

Your half-hearted, pathetic humor is the only thing holding the pieces of you together right now. You move to go inside because there’s only so much humiliation you can take in front of— well, anyone. But especially him.

“…y’know you’re, like, m’best friend, right?”

You have to turn to look then because, God, that’s not even _fair_. His shoulders hunched, face nearly buried in the front of his coat and he still won’t look at you. You don’t even know if you want him to anymore. And it’s so damn pathetic, but you can’t help but smile at his nervous demeanor, his affirmation that you are _still_ best friends.

When you get inside, you’ll shatter apart. You’ll take a couple days away from the monsters’ pitying eyes to wallow in your mortification and rejected love. You’ll plaster a smile on your face and learn to restrain your soul. You’ll greet them with forgiving hugs and self-deprecating laughter, even when he still refuses to meet your eyes. You’ll grit your teeth and push through, force your love into the farthest, forgotten corner of yourself and lock it away.

You’re a wretched, heartbroken fool and you’ll take what you can get.

“Yeah,” you tell him, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism and feedback always appreciated! How do you feel about ReaderPOV v SansPOV? Is the angst too heavy-handed? Is Reader so OC it's painful? Let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
